


A Vampire Kiss

by cozywilde



Series: Smoochtober [27]
Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Cuddling & Snuggling, Loneliness, M/M, Neck Kissing, Vampire Bites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 11:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21208076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozywilde/pseuds/cozywilde
Summary: Alone in his manor (and definitelynotbrooding), Muroc hears a knock at the door.





	A Vampire Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Muroc is a vampire! Funnily enough it hardly changes his backstory ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> [Muroc](https://toyhou.se/3251926.muroc), who is blessed (cursed) with incredible charisma that can bend others to his will  
[Zaan](https://toyhou.se/3237164.zaan), an absolute sweetheart angel who seems to be immune to Muroc's charms (but only the magical ones)
> 
> Also, I suggest taking a look at [this lovely picture](https://toyhou.se/3251926.muroc/15335592) for some extra vampire!Muroc flavor~

A storm howls outside, thick rain battering the windows and filling the air of his manor with a damp chill. Fires haven’t burned in his grates for many years now; Muroc doesn’t need them, and since he forced his followers to depart, there’s nobody here that suffers in the cold. 

Thunder booms, and the windows rattle. Then there’s a smaller boom, almost an echo, again, and again - _ that’s not thunder. _

Someone is knocking at his door. Banging on it, actually.

The thought is so perplexing that Muroc doesn’t move for a long minute, stiff in his plush armchair by his cold, empty fireplace. Another bang jars him out of his thoughts, and he stands on autopilot, walking through the door of his study and into the hallway. 

His footsteps echo hollowly back to him as he travels the path to the entryway, still familiar though he hasn’t walked it in… some time. There had been no reason to. By the time he reaches the broad double doors, the knocking has stopped. He wonders if the lost traveler has given up, sought shelter somewhere else. Or maybe they’re looking for something to break a window in with. 

It would be a pain to replace a window, Muroc thinks. Yes, he doesn’t do much anymore but sit around thinking - brooding, some would say, though he’d argue that - but if the elements got into the manor then it wouldn’t be long before he was sharing space with all manner of mold and damp and perhaps even wildlife. And think of what the books would look like after a storm like this. That much decided, he resolves to at least check for his visitor before they do break a window trying to get in. 

Muroc walks forward, light steps sending puffs of dust up from the rug. Taking his ring of keys from his belt, he unlocks the door. The clunk of the mechanism turning is louder than he remembers, and it must be equally audible from outside - the banging resumes at a faster rhythm this time. 

“Patience, I am coming,” Muroc says, voice hoarse from disuse, and the knocking stops, though he thinks he hears a muffled sound of excitement. He tucks the keys back onto his belt, turning the handle and opening the door. 

“Oh thank _ goodness! _You wouldn’t believe how hard it’s raining out there, I thought I was gonna drown,” his visitor says, immediately shooting inside and then screeching to a halt. “Woah, it’s dark in here.” Muroc blinks, closing the door before more wet can get in - the man is dripping a steady stream of rainwater onto his rug. Well, it could probably use a wash anyway.

“I do not require light,” he says. 

The man squints at him. “Yeah, your eyes are sorta glowy, that’s cool!” 

Muroc immediately looks away. This traveler does not deserve to be caught in his glamour for the minor sin of losing his way. “But you do. I will light the lamps.”

“Awesome, thanks!” he says, and steps closer, and _ oh _ Muroc did not consider this. Under the clean scent of the rain there’s something hot and vital, spiced with a flavor that he’s missed for so long, can practically taste spilling over his tongue already, he’s so _ hungry - _

Muroc quickly turns away, digging through his pockets for matches. Circling the perimeter of the room to light the lamps gives him a good excuse to stay far away from his visitor. 

“I’m Zaan,” the visitor says, a little louder than normal to compensate for Muroc’s distance. Or perhaps that’s simply his usual volume. All of the lanterns flicker now, casting soft golden light over the entryway, but Muroc remains at the far side of the room. “What’s your name?” 

“Hello, Zaan,” Muroc says, buying himself time. _ Had his former followers told tales? _It’s foolish of him not to have checked on his own reputation - hunters could show up at any time, out for his head. “My name is Muroc,” he says anyway, because if Zaan is some kind of hunter, they may as well dispense with any illusions. 

“H-hi Muroc, n-nice to meet you,” Zaan says, and Muroc frowns, chancing a quick glance over. 

“You’re freezing, forgive me,” he says, shaking his head at himself. Zaan is soaked through and his manor is cold even when it isn’t storming like this. “Let me get you some dry clothes. This way.” 

“T-that would be g-great, t-thank you!” Zaan says through his shivers, following Muroc back into the hallway. “D-do you l-live here all alone?” 

“Yes.”

“T-that must be l-lonely,” Zaan says. He sounds genuinely sorry about it. 

“I suppose,” Muroc says shortly. “Here we are.” He opens the door to his bedroom, as it’s the only one still stocked with clothing. He crosses over to the wardrobe, pulling out a robe, a shirt, some pants - whatever his visitor wants. He tosses them on the bed. “Wait here, I’ll bring you some towels.” 

“Alright t-then, thanks!” Zaan says, already shucking his jacket and shirt into a wet pile on the floor. His torso is long and lean, gleaming with droplets of water. Muroc ducks into the bathroom before Zaan loses his pants too. 

He takes a few towels from the shelf and brings them back into the bedroom, holding them out with his eyes carefully averted. 

“Thanks,” Zaan says, taking them and starting to scrub himself dry. “D-does that f-fireplace work?” 

Muroc can’t believe how _ bad _at this he’s become. “Yes. One moment.” At least he’s lucky enough to have dry firewood next to the fireplace, and he starts stacking the logs and pulling out tinder. It takes him a few tries to start it, but eventually the sparks catch, small flames creeping up the logs. 

“That feels so good,” Zaan sighs, and Muroc blinks. Suddenly he’s crouched right next to him, extending his hands toward the fire. In the flickering light, Muroc can see the vivid crimson of his hair - fluffed up in a dozen directions from the towel - and matching red markings that mirror the bones of his hands and arms. Tattoos, maybe, or paint - though it would have to be hardy paint to survive the rain. The robe he’s donned covers any more, other than what might be a ribcage and sternum peeking through the gaping neck. He looks into the fire instead - far less hazardous. “Don’t you get cold in here, no fires going or anything? Or are you just in other rooms mostly?” 

“I don’t really get cold,” Muroc says. 

“But what about your hands, when I took the towels!” Zaan says, and reaches over to scoop Muroc’s hands into his, rubbing over his skin. They’re warm, _ so _warm, and Muroc looks up before he can stop himself, eyes wide. He was wrong about the markings - there’s a skull drawn onto Zaan’s face as well, and vertebrae down his neck. His neck, where the robe has slipped down, baring the delicate skin there, only the thinnest of barriers between Muroc and the heady beat of his pulse. 

“See, you should get warmed up too, I bet you’ve just stopped noticing if you’re cold all the time…” Zaan trails off, his own vivid blue eyes fixed on Muroc’s face. More precisely, Muroc’s mouth. 

_ Shit. _Muroc can feel the points of his fangs pressing against his bottom lip, can guess that his eyes have the glowing sharpness that hunger brings. 

“What are you?” Zaan says. His voice is low, but oddly not panicked - is he in shock? 

“I’m a monster,” Muroc says honestly. He can’t seem to look away from Zaan’s neck. 

“No, I don’t believe that,” Zaan says, his voice a little louder now, conviction behind it. “You helped me! You brought me inside and took care of me and everything!” He squints at Muroc in the low light. “Are you… hungry?” 

“No!” Muroc snarls. Even he can hear the desperation in his own voice. 

Zaan frowns. “Are you lying? You shouldn’t lie, that’s not very nice. Can I help?” He grins eagerly at this new idea, scooting closer. Muroc recoils as if he’s the one in danger instead of Zaan. 

_ I’ve put him under my spell, _Muroc realizes. Not consciously, most likely his hunger at smelling warm blood for the first time in ages overriding his own will. Well, he’s learned already that he can undo the harm he’s done by using that same power again.

“Leave!” Muroc commands, choked with restraint, eyes squeezed shut. “I won’t force you. I _ won’t. _” 

“No, you’re not _ forcing _me, I want to help!” Zaan protests. He moves closer again, a line of warmth against Muroc’s side.

Muroc falters. “No?” 

“_Yes _, no, I mean - I want it!” 

“You can refuse me?” Muroc breathes, cracking one eye open a slit. 

“Um… yeah?” Zaan says, and he looks confused. _ Confused _ \- not beaming a vacant smile with eyes empty of any feeling, any will. He’s… not enamored? 

“And… you want this?” Muroc asks, tracing two fingers down the side of Zaan’s neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse under soft skin. 

“Yes,” Zaan says, a little shaky, but his eyes are bright, still fixed steadily on Muroc’s. “I want to help.” 

“Tell me if it hurts. I can stop. I will stop,” Muroc promises. He leans in, and Zaan shivers, but Muroc just presses his lips to his neck, inhales that rich, almost spicy scent. He can feel the pulse point under his lips, beating an inviting staccato against his mouth, and can’t wait a second longer. He bites. Zaan’s blood spills over his tongue, and Muroc moans, rapturous. 

Zaan gasps, and his hand comes up to grasp the back of Muroc’s head - to pull him away? No, he just strokes restlessly through Muroc’s hair. Trusting Zaan will tell him if it’s too much, Muroc seals his lips over the bite and sucks. It’s _ incredible - _the rich vitality that bursts into his mouth, warming him from the inside out. His hands grip Zaan’s shoulder and waist, holding him steady as he starts to swoon with a soft moan of his own. 

_ Stop. I have to stop. _

Muroc pulls back, a whine in the back of his throat at the denial. Blood continues to drip from the puncture wounds - at least they’re neat; he hadn’t mauled him like others of his kind would. “I’m sorry,” Muroc says anyway. He pulls a clean cloth from his pocket and presses it over the bite mark to help the bleeding stop. 

Zaan turns his head to look at him, wincing a bit as it pulls at the wounds - but he’s _ smiling. _“What for? It helped, right? You look way better!” He blushes, and Muroc feels an answering warmth, foreign with how long it’s been since he felt such a thing. “Also… it kinda felt… really good?” 

Muroc smiles. “Ah. That can happen sometimes.” 

“We should try that again sometime then,” Zaan says, and yawns, as if he hasn’t just blown Muroc’s mind with a single sentence. He wants to see Muroc again? He wants to _ stay? _“Kinda sleepy now though.” 

“The blood loss,” Muroc sighs, remorseful. “Let me help you to the bed.” Zaan nods, and Muroc has Zaan hold the cloth to his own neck while he lifts him into his arms. 

“Woah, you’re strong,” Zaan giggles, and Muroc wonders if this is hysteria or if Zaan is just this adorable. He lays Zaan into the bed, drawing the sheets up over him. “Hey, Muroc? Do you sleep?” 

Muroc hesitates, debating how truthful to be. _ You shouldn’t lie, _Zaan had said. “Yes. During the day.” 

Zaan looks at the windows automatically, not that he should bother - all are fitted with thick shutters, locked down tight. “Well I don’t know what time it is, but can you stay with me?” 

“Stay with you?” 

“Yeah.” Zaan pats the sheets next to him. “If that’s alright?” 

Muroc nods, though he’s baffled. Zaan had seen his fangs, had even let Muroc bite him, and he still wants Muroc near him while he sleeps? He takes his boots off and climbs into the bed, easing himself under the sheets a careful distance from Zaan. 

Having none of that, Zaan immediately squirms over to rest his head against Muroc’s chest. “This okay?” he asks, and Muroc nods, bewildered. He slowly lets his arms circle Zaan, who hums happily, settling in. 

“You’re even a little warm now,” Zaan comments, and then pauses, ear pressed to Muroc’s chest. “You don’t have a heartbeat though?” 

“...no, I don’t,” Muroc says. 

“Okay,” Zaan says, unconcerned. “Well, good night.” 

“Zaan?” 

“Mmhmm?” 

“Thank you.” 


End file.
